. The Poet's Beat .

. The Poet's Beat .
"A working class citizen is apt to see this country for what it's worth... A miasma of interlocking variations on differing demographics and geographies unlike any other inhabited space in the world. The American Dream. The rolling footloose hills and the upstanding Apache badlands where criminals cut bread with priests and the children of Hollywood. I am no different. Yet I am still brazen enough to think that the world is a playground built by the rugged hands of a hard-working man in order that my fantasies be materialized." -- P.P. Vonnersdale

Wednesday, May 2, 2012

Pink Dolphins

I found you floating face up
In the brown curling jungle river

With a broken heart

Taking on water

Leeches in your eyes

The current lapping waves onto the islands
     of your pale breasts

You told me I could follow the stars

That their trails would take me home

But every star is where I came from

Every star is where I’m going

Tiny grey black-eyed perch kissing your skin
     where my own lips used to rest

Tan lines on your hips

Tiny wrinkles on your toes

My limbs wrapped in wet clothes like a new flesh

Draped over my hollow bones

Protecting the water inside of me from the water without

I wonder what you’ll see on the river tonight

When the world floats by in greens and sprinkles of stars

Conversations with pink dolphins

Comparing labia

As they sing shrill songs lamenting better days downstream

I call your name from the bridge

My voice a scream

An echo

Nonsense in the still darkness

Life must go on, you say

Ignoring my attempts to retrieve you

As your long hair swarms slow motion about your peculiar face

Life must go on

And I must forget you

Ten thousand jungle noises drown my reply

Invisible hands pull you away from me

Always slightly stronger than whatever I can muster

The Pirarucu whispers in your ear

It’s time to go

The Jaguar, always watching, drinks from a pool at your throat

Don’t leave me like this, I say

But without another word you fade into the muddy river

To become silt and sand

To eventually empty into an enormous lonely sea

I am left forever with the image of your long nipples
     slipping beneath the surface

Like duel periscopes



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